


Rumours Only Grow

by thebureauisclosed (insibbegerest)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, Other, Pining, basically they gotta deal with Heaven and Hell's bullshit while being very gay for each other, i mean it's not explicitly mentioned but it's how i imagine it so, they're soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-16 13:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19319026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insibbegerest/pseuds/thebureauisclosed
Summary: Things were Good. And when Things are Good, one should be grateful for that instead of pointlessly pining for more, wouldn't you agree?While there certainly were universes in which Things could be described as Great or even Wonderful, it seemed wiser to Aziraphale not to dwell on that. After all it would not help anything, and one would do better to remember they were lucky enough to have avoided adjectives such as Bad, Disastrous or Reminiscent-of-the-smell-of-wet-dog-and-farts (not your typical adjective, yes, but still functional).So if you were to ask Aziraphale about Things, he would offer you a polite smile and reply thatoh it's all good, really, thank you for asking, although a small part of him might be thinkingI suppose I would be happier if someone finally got rid of this elephant that has been sadly trumpeting in the room for about six thousand years, but then again is it really smart to move an elephant when you have no idea what it has beenstanding onthis entire time?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princesapollobollo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesapollobollo/gifts).



> About footnotes - I didn't want to make you poor souls keep scrolling up and down and I am too lazy to solve that by adding links, so. Once in a while you'll find a wannabe funny remark in parantheses, please pretend they are footnotes.  
> ONE DREAM, ONE SOUL, ONE PRIZE, ONE GOAL (sorry, this note has been left in a car for some time)
> 
> Also! Happy birthday, Irene :)

"But if what they say is true, I mean… Isn't it beautiful?" Tanliel's voice was hesitant, tentative, like that of a child who was about to ask for a new video game despite knowing the only kind of reaction that could elicit from their strict parents would be a variation on the good old classic _"These things are bad for your development, why don't you go out and play with sticks and stones like we used to?"_

It was thin ice they were treading on, Tanliel knew, but they were a (pardon the expression) goddamn cupid after all, and as such they supposed they could afford to speak like a helpless romantic once in a while.

 "Beautiful?" The word rolled off Khaseel's tongue as though it tasted of rotten lemons. "And what exactly is beautiful about it?"

"Everything," Tanliel breathed out. "Demons are twisted and sinful and terrible-"

"Yes, that is my point!"

"-and yet, some angels believe that despite him being one of the most wicked creatures God has ever created, Aziraphale loves him."

"Some angels believe," Khaseel repeated mockingly. "I've met angels who believed that pigs could fly or that God condemned people in same sex relationships. I mean of course Aziraphale loves Crowley, but we are angels, loving everything and everyone is a part of our job description."

"That is true, but some believe," Tanliel pointedly ignored the faces Khaseel was making, "that their feelings are more of the… romantic sort."

Khaseel blinked. "Is that even possible?"

"I know it is strange, but in my opinion it would explain a lot of things, too. If Crowley was still a demon, how could he have bathed in holy water? Both of them survived their executions, so that must mean they've become something new. Some form of life that isn't quite one or the other."

"But if they aren't ethereal, occult nor human… what are they?"

"Only She knows the answer to that," Tanliel said. "But would you like to hear my theory?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Having known Khaseel for centuries, Tanliel had mastered the art of ignoring half of whatever their colleague was saying. "I think that creation of a new species is something only God herself could make happen. I also know that the human race can only exist thanks to love. So, the only explanation that comes to my mind is that when they fell in love, Crowley became a bit angelic and Aziraphale a bit demonic and that God would never have let anything like that happen unless She approved."

Khaseel lowered his voice. "You shouldn't be saying such things outloud, Tanliel. It is not our place to speculate about Her intentions."

"Speculating isn't a sin, though! It's not like I am questioning Her decisions, I am just saying…"

"Yes, you are just saying." Khaseel sighed. "Either way, I hate to poke a hole in your theory, but whatever Crowley is now, he had been a demon for six thousand years. I bet he understands love about as much as I do minigolf."

"Listen, even if most demons couldn't experience love, this one can."

"And you would know that how?"

 "Michael," Tanliel said simply. "She was there when Hell wanted to get rid of Crowley for good… or should I say for bad? Either way, allegedly Michael told Sidael who told Innaphia who…" Khaseel rolled his eyes, not bothering to pay attention to any of the long list of names Tanliel was presenting. "…that she could sense love emanating from Crowley, different from any sort of love she had sensed before. Must have been Crowley’s feelings for Aziraphale."

"Different how?" Despite all of Khaseel's scepticism, a tint of curiosity could be found in his question if you paid enough attention. And Tanliel always paid attention.

"Well, different from both human and angelic love. It is isn’t some remainder of Crowley's angelic ability to love all life, because it is too… Michael described it as bright and deep, but there was also tenderness and longing and something about fluttering butterflies, if I recall correctly. It is almost as if they had discovered their own new kind of life that no one else had experienced before. Do you still believe it is not beautiful?"

"Hmmphh," offered Khaseel, who at this point wasn’t actually sure what he believed, only that an answer was expected of him.

Tanliel grinned, considering his silence a small victory. "I knew you'd agree with me. Well… perhaps you ought to learn a thing or two about minigolf, Khaseel."

* * *

 

A man once said - _When I was young, I found out that the big toe always ends up making a hole in a sock; so I stopped wearing socks._ A reasonable decision, was it not? Why keep bothering with something that eventually always results in disappointment and material loss? These were good and strong words uttered by, one might assume, a person with a well-developed common sense and grasp of reality.

And this person had graced humanity with a lot more wisdom during his lifetime. While his brain had failed at discovering justification for the existence of socks, it had been highly efficient at dealing with numerous other inquiries. You might recognise him as the man who knew stuff and things about physics, relativity, or speed of light.

This scientist – let's call him Albert, for it is as good a name as any – claimed that no particle or wave could surpass the speed of light. And oh how wrong he was, despite his genius!

If you have ever lived in a village or a small town, you must know this to be true – nothing travels faster than rumours. You spend the night alone at your place, you whisper something in your sleep and the next day, every local woman aged 65+ (bonus points if she likes to wear scarves with floral patterns and is in possession of a small dog such as poodle or Yorkshire terrier) can recite it verbatim. The day after, younger women and men get to hear about it as well, and by the end of the week there is a headline on the front page of the neighbouring town's newspaper saying _, You wouldn’t believe what this bastard dreams of._

It is something Albert must have forgotten to consider in his theories, distracted by all his photons, quanta, mass energy and such.

To sum it up - if Freddie Mercury had wanted to be truly successful at _not being stopped_ and _making a supersonic person outta you (yeah, yeah),_ he should have travelled at the speed of rumours instead of speed of light.

Then again, this is Freddie Mercury we are speaking of. He surely knew best what he was doing.

* * *

 

Things were Good. And when Things are Good, one should be grateful for that instead of pointlessly pining for more, wouldn't you agree?

While there certainly were universes in which Things could be described as Great or even Wonderful, it seemed wiser to Aziraphale not to dwell on that. After all it would not help anything, and one would do better to remember they were lucky enough to have avoided adjectives such as Bad, Disastrous or Reminiscent-of-the-smell-of- wet-dog-and-farts (not your typical adjective, yes, but still functional).

So if you were to ask Aziraphale about Things, he would offer you a polite smile and reply that _oh it's all good, really, thank you for asking,_ although a small part of him might be thinking _I suppose I would be happier if someone finally got rid of this elephant that has been sadly trumpeting in the room for about six thousand years, but then again is it really smart to move an elephant when you have no idea what it has been_ standing on _this entire time?_

Crowley had recently taken a liking to Aziraphale's place. He would invite himself in nearly every day, lacking the decency to give Aziraphale a call in advance like he used to. Not that Aziraphale minded; actually it was getting a little concerning just how much he did not mind. What concerned him even more, however, were the days Crowley would not show up at his door at all. On the majority of them, Aziraphale would eventually give up, dial his friend's number anyway and tempt him to dinner or a cultural event which had been sold out until new tickets miraculously appeared in Aziraphale's pocket. Crowley never said no. 

Before, most of their meetings and conversations had been prompted by the favours they would ask of each other as a part of The Arrangement. Sure, once in a while they would spend time together just because they wanted to show the other some interesting sights in the vicinity or make them try a new gourmet specialty, but there had always been some sort of a motive behind their little tête-à-têtes. Now, though? They had both stopped bothering to pretend this was about things other than enjoying each other's company. In many ways it was a welcome change, but it was also making the elephant in the room trumpet louder. From being able to go decades without seeing each other, they got to a state where Aziraphale found himself missing Crowley after a single day without his company. Silly, wasn't it?

Currently the demon was walking by Aziraphale's side and crinkling his nose as they were leaving the theatre.

"Oh please stop making that face, Crowley, you must admit they've done a lovely job. The music, the scenery, the actors… I might have even teared up a bit during the final scene," Aziraphale said.

"Yeah I know, I think the entire theatre could hear you blowing your nose."

Aziraphale paused. Then, "You are still making the face."

"It is my least favourite of all Shakespeare's plays and you've made me rewatch it. I think I have the right to look annoyed," said Crowley, looking annoyed.

Aziraphale shook his head in disapproval. "Least favourite? Just because it is about love?"

"About love? Are you serious, angel?" Seeing Aziraphale tilt his head and frown, the demon continued. "Okay first of all, those kids barely knew each other. Twelve or so hours and they're both all _'oh_ _you are the love of my life, I can't live without you, we need to get married'!_ Makes no sense."

"Humans sometimes fall in love very fast."

"In one day? Come on! I mean obviously I am no expert," Crowley hurried to add, "but aren't you supposed to actually know someone to be able to love them? Find out what they like, what they don’t like, how they act when they’re happy or angry or sad, if they'll still fancy you when you get an ugly new haircut…"

Aziraphale crossed his arms. "Then how much time would be enough in your opinion?"

"How would I know?"

"How indeed," Aziraphale muttered under his breath. Then he put on his smile again and continued more loudly, "But if you overlook this little detail, you have to admit it is a good play."

"Irritating is what it is. The Montagues, the Capulets… bloody idiots, all of them. Let their kids die just because their heads were completely stuck up their arses. Wouldn't you agree that it's moronic when two groups of people are enemies just for the sake of being enemies, because it's always been that way, and are unable to put their disagreements behind them no matter the cost?" Now Crowley was looking straight at Aziraphale, who was once again reminded of how unfair it was that he wouldn't take those glasses off unless they were alone and drunk.

"Well… It does sound a bit pointless when you put it like that."

Crowley, not letting his eyes wander from Aziraphale's face, began to slow down their walking pace until they were barely moving. "So yeah, that's why the play irks me," he said in a low voice. "You have these two dumb rebellious teenagers who don't know anything about life yet, they think the other is really cool and then kick the bucket because their families don't even let them give a shot at being together. Because you know, liking someone is all nice and great but G- Someone forbid you like the wrong person! Ugh, it's even worse than Hamlet."

Aziraphale blinked, still trying to process everything that had just run out of Crowley's mouth. Before his brain could catch up and generate a suitable reply, Crowley sighed and added, "Next time, we're seeing a comedy and I don’t take no for an answer. Anyway, on a completely unrelated note… Still no word from your bosses?"

"No, nothing. You?"

"Same here, it's been a while. Didn't think it would actually work, scaring them off like that," Crowley said thoughtfully. One corner of his lips turned up. "You should have seen Gabriel's face when I spat fire at him. What a lovely sight."

"Spitting fire… I think you went a bit overboard there," said Aziraphale, but there was no real edge to his voice.

"Says the one who asked Michael for a towel."

"I was only trying to stay in character!"

"Well so was I. Don't tell me you wouldn't enjoy giving those bastards a little shock after everything they've put you through."

"There's giving a little shock and then there's nearly frying someone, Crowley." He had intended the words to come out as at least somewhat disapproving, but all he could hear as they were leaving his lips was fondness. This was yet another disadvantage of their daily appointments – while Aziraphale was aware he had never excelled at hiding his emotions from Crowley, lately he had been incompetent in that area. He as much as glanced at the demon (often it sufficed to only think about him, but Aziraphale hated admitting that to himself) and he could feel his gaze soften, his lips curl into a smile and his heart… well he wasn't quite sure how to describe what his heart was doing, but it was undeniably _doing something_ and that seemed embarrassing enough.

"Look, those guys definitely deserved to have their feathers ruffled. Bloody Gabriel looked so excited to have you killed! Really makes one wonder how exactly are your lot supposed to be better than our lot, huh? Jerks everywhere." They had discussed their (or rather Agnes's) bodyswapping plan several times before, of course. Aziraphale could not fail to notice how upset Crowley got each time he mentioned his encounter with the archangels, as if he had taken it personally.

" _Can you believe it?" Crowley had said a few weeks ago. "They keep going on about how good and righteous they are, but then they treat you like you’re less than dirt on their shoes. It’s one thing to execute someone for disobedience, but those bastards were actually enjoying it! They could have made a great career in hell, you know. Ugh, I still can’t wrap my head around it, how… how could they just… oh for Someone’s sake, they were going to kill you, Aziraphale!" Something in his voice broke. "You know murder isn’t my favourite sin, but I was kind of tempted to pull them into the fire with me. Holier-than-thou pricks…"_

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "They aren't really… my lot and your lot anymore, are they, though? You always say that…"

"I always say it's just you and me now, angel," Crowley said softly. They were standing in the middle of one of Soho's streets. Aziraphale's ears had grown accustomed to local background noises, such as the obligatory singing and shouting of inebriated tourists, and therefore had learnt to automatically disregard them. They were far less accustomed to experiencing silence outside of his bookshop and the fact that Aziraphale currently couldn't hear any singing was making him feel uneasy. It must have been Crowley's doing, muting the street like that to gain his friend's undivided attention.

Crowley’s hand was hesitantly moving towards Aziraphale’s until their fingers brushed. Aziraphale's breath caught in his throat (or it would have caught there if Aziraphale didn’t find breathing so tedious). They had held hands on a few occasions before, but considering the nature of their conversation and the looks they had been exchanging it would feel too intimate now. Hanging out together every day had already been dangerous enough; if they started acting too affectionate, their head offices might find out and get the wrong idea. Aziraphale shuddered at the thought of what Heaven and Hell would do if they believed him and Crowley to be… romantically involved. Up and Down promised they would leave the two alone for some time and it would be careless to do anything that would attract their attention again, especially in such a way.

Not without reluctance the angel withdrew his hand, pretending he did not notice how Crowley’s face fell. "Well, I… thank you for the lovely evening, my dear boy," Aziraphale said, attempting a smile and taking a step away from Crowley. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah… See you tomorrow," Crowley murmured.

As he was heading towards his bookshop, Aziraphale could sense Crowley's eyes on him.

* * *

 

What on Earth was Aziraphale’s problem? All Crowley did was touch his hand, why did things have to get so awkward? Crowley sighed and shook his head. The bloody angel was going to be the death of him one day.

Unless he got assassinated by whatever or whomever had been crawling in the shadows some thirty feet behind him for the past few minutes. At first Crowley had thought it had been merely his imagination playing tricks on him, but the rustling noises persisted. He hoped he was being followed by a common thief rather than someone on a mission from Hell, but honestly, what were the chances?

He stopped and yelled, "Alright, you can come out now! But if I remember correctly, I told you all I wanted to be left alone!"

The rustling got nearer and louder. Soon, a demon was standing right in front of Crowley, giving him a crooked smile.

"Hello, Crowley." He couldn't explain it, but somehow their voice reminded Crowley of the screeching of nails on a chalkboard. "Don’t worry, I am not here on official business."

"Oh? What do you want then, a casual friendly chat?"

"Basically." Crowley was sure he had met the demon before, but could not for the life of him recall the name; likely not anyone important, then. Two fully white eyes with deep circles underneath were fixed on him, unblinking. The demon's greasy black hair went all the way down to two pale bony knees sticking out of the holes on their jeans. Several ugly scars could be found stretching across their face and a giant spider was seated on their head.

"I don’t want to talk to you," Crowley said coldly and returned to walking. If this really wasn’t official business, he did not have to worry about the Big Bad Guy getting pissed off with him for ignoring this sod.

"Come oon, Crowley, help out a fellow demon in need!" The demon shouted, still trailing behind Crowley like a trained dog. "How did you manage to do that, huh? Share your secret."

"I have no idea what you’re blabbering about."

"Oh, you know." Spiderman (as Crowley had dubbed them in his head) winked at him (it wouldn't count among the best winks, since their other eye nearly closed as well, but an effort at winking was definitely made here) and lowered their voice. "How did you manage to seduce an angel?"

That stopped Crowley dead in his tracks. " _Excuse_ _me_?" (Yes, he actually managed to say that in cursive, don’t ask me how.)

"Don’t act confused, we all know that’s what happened… Well at least us lower demons know. The superiors claim it’s bullshit, but I think they’re just trying to hide the truth from us. That's what superiors do, right? Either they're hiding important things from you or they're threatening to discorporate you if you hide important things from them. A teensy bit unfair." Crowley had been around for long enough to come to the conclusion that people who spoke about _the truth_ with zeal, conviction and conspiratorial winking would in the end only believe what they wanted to believe and couldn't care less if it contradicted the truth of everyone else in the world. And so what if the world could actually prove its point of view? Those bastards were lying through their teeth anyway.

"What kind of truth exactly are they trying to hide then?"

"You screwed an angel and that’s how you got your superpowers. How else could you possibly gain resistance to holy water?"

"Erm," said Crowley. As soon as Spiderman had approached him, he knew this was going to be a weird conversation, but he would never expect it to get _this_ weird. "Who exactly came up with this theory?"

"Not sure, but it’s the best explanation any of us could come up with. Also you’re always around Aziraphale and you two have been on Earth for so long it makes sense you would adopt a human sin or two."

"Uh huh. Well. Makes sense, you say?" Crowley wondered what Spiderman would think if they knew most of their humanly sinning was related to Japanese vinegared rice or after-lunch naps.

"Yeah, obviously. Listen, I want to be able to do the same tricks like you, so… how does one go about seducing an angel?" This was probably the most laughable question Crowley had received in years, even though the Jehova's Witnesses had asked him to join several times. He had befriended one angel in his lifetime and apparently he wasn’t even allowed to touch his hand after 6000 years.

"Buy them flowers or something," he replied ironically.

Peter Parker's uglier colleague, apparently not fluent in either basic irony or the dialect known to experts as special-Crowley-style-irony, fished a small notebook out of their jacket. To Crowley’s bewilderment, they immediately began scribbling notes in it. "Flowers, right! Of course angels would like flowers. What kind?"

"Whatever. Roses, tulips, sunflowers…"

"Got it. Okay, I give them flowers, what next?"

"You should write them a poem," Crowley continued seriously. "It has to rhyme and involve compliments. Something about how pretty their eyes are or whatever."

"Compliments?" They spat out the word in disgust. "Demons don’t give compliments!"

Having recovered from his initial confusion, Crowley was actually beginning to enjoy himself here. "Listen, if courting angels was easy, don't you think everyone would be doing it? It’s a task only the most capable of demons can handle. If you don't feel up to it, I understand."  

"No! I can do it, of course!" Hideous Tom Holland blurted out. "I only imagined it would be simpler. More along the lines of 'Hey angel, let’s fuck'."

Crowley held back laughter at the idea of a demon approaching Michael, for example, and using this line on her. "I mean, you could try that too, if you wanted."

Hellish Andrew Garfield nodded, their pencil scratching the surface of the paper. After a few seconds they looked up and grinned. "Well, thanks for all the advice, Crowley. Very evil of you."

"Yeah yeah, of course. Now would you finally sod off and leave me to my evil thoughts and plans?"

"With pleasure." The demon curtsied, showed their back to Crowley and once again entered the shadows.

* * *

 

"You wouldn’t believe what happened to me yesterday, angel!" Crowley was lying sprawled over the sofa in the back of Aziraphale's bookshop. His words were starting to slur; he and Aziraphale had been enhancing the quality of their afternoon with red wine. Crowley couldn't tell anymore how much of the beverage he had consumed as his mind was too busy admiring the blue of Aziraphale's eyes and contemplating when would be the best time to cut off all London's wi-fi.

"Yesterday? Well, we went to the Shakespeare play together…"

"No, I mean after. I had a demon following me, imagine that."

"A… demon?" Aziraphale shifted in his chair. "Oh dear, that's not a good sign. What did they want?"

"That's the thing, they wanted to… they thought…" The words died on Crowley's lips. A second ago, he was excited to share the funny story with his angel, but now he was getting strangely shy. "They thought we were like… an item."

"An item?"

"Yeeah, like…" Crowley waved his hand noncommittally. "A bunch of lower demons somehow came to the conclusion that I'm a superdemon who can survive everything thanks to… thanks to… well they believe that you and I…" He made another universal hand gesture.

"That you and I… Oh." Aziraphale's lovely eyes widened. They had no business being so bloody blue, really. "Well I hope you explained how absurd that is."

"Ngghh?"

"You did talk them out of it, didn't you?"

Crowley's brain rewound to his conversation with Nasty Tobey Maguire, trying to bypass the smog of drunken oblivion clouding all his memories. "Well," he said carefully, "I didn't confirm it."

"But did you deny it?" Panic could be heard creeping into Aziraphale's voice.

Shit. Shit on a stick. "Not exactly."

Aziraphale straightened his back and sobered up, wincing slightly. Bless it, this wasn't a conversation Crowley wanted to have sober; truth be told he didn't want to have it drunk either, but that didn't seem to be an option anymore, so he followed Aziraphale's example. It wouldn't be fair if they led a discussion where only one of them could think and speak properly. "So you let a who knows how big group of demons assume that… Crowley! What were you thinking?!"

"Wasn't thinking much," Crowley muttered.

"Obviously!" Aziraphale's voice kept getting higher. "We have been keeping our friendship secret for six thousand years because it's something we could get killed for! And you just… I cannot believe you would be so irresponsible." Two shits on a stick.

"Ever met a responsible demon?" Crowley smiled bitterly. "Calm your wings, angel, one incompetent idiot thinking we're enemies with benefits won't change anything. Our boss would never fall for that."

"How can you be so sure? And what if word reaches Heaven?"

Crowley felt a pang of guilt at the terror in Aziraphale's eyes. He should have denied everything, of course he should have… But the demon wouldn't have believed him anyway, would they? And how could he have refrained from pulling that moron's leg when it was so hilarious and easy? "Then you'll just deny it."

"As expertly as you did, my dear?" Somehow the angel managed to make the endearment sound rather like a threat. Crowley reminded himself never to upset him again.

"I am sorry, okay? But trust me, the worst thing that can happen is one of the archangels receiving a nasty postcard and a bouquet of black roses. We will be fine."

Aziraphale crossed his arms. "Right. Oh, when did it become so late? I'm afraid the opening hours are over, dear. You will have to come another time."

"Oh, ssso you're going to kick me out and sulk for the rest of the day just because you're paranoid?" Crowley hissed. "Great. Amazing. How very mature of you."

"Crowley." Aziraphale's anger appeared to have faded away, leaving tiredness in its place. "I would like to be alone now, if you don't mind."

"I do mind. Just so you know. But okay, I'm going! I'm leaving, Aziraphale! Hope you have a blast with your books and antiques!" Crowley threw his hands in the air and darted out of the room.

Stupid angel. Stupid Spiderman. And last but not least, stupid himself.

* * *

 

At least he still had his Bentley. The Bentley understood him. The Bentley never argued with him. The Bentley's greatest sin was turning every record into the Best of Queen, but in every other aspect Crowley could rely on his car. It was his new best friend, he decided.

He caught himself humming along with Under Pressure and made a grimace. He wasn't going to encourage the car's shenanigans, not when they were targetted at him.

"Ee da ba ba ba," sang Freddie Mercury, "um bo bo, be lap, HELLO THERE CROWLEY."

Crowley groaned internally. If being approached by a common demon was a bad sign, _this_ was like getting punched with a fist that had "YOU'RE IN FUCKING TROUBLE" tattooed on it. Crowley couldn't count how many times he had already been hit by that fist, but it was never an experience he would be looking forward to relive. "Sir."

IT HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO MY ATTENTION YOU HAVE BEEN CORRUPTING AN ANGEL.

Crowley was sweating. "Sir?"

APPARENTLY YOU'VE BEEN DOING A GOOD JOB OF IT. GOOD AS IN PROFESSIONAL, NOT GOOD AS IN GOOD, OBVIOUSLY.

"I have? I mean, I have. Of course I have. Thank you, sir."

IF ALL THAT I HAVE HEARD IS TRUE, THE ANGEL IS WELL ON HIS WAY TO FALLING. HEAVEN WOULD NEVER FORGIVE HIM FOR… SUCCUMBING TO A DEMON'S WILES, SO TO SAY.

"Does Heaven know?" Crowley blurted out against his better judgement, praying to Beethoven he wouldn't receive an affirmative reply.

PROBABLY NOT YET, BUT THEY WILL. CARRY ON, CROWLEY. _Why can't we give love that one more chance -_

Crowley punched the radio's power button and threw his head back. This was not what he wanted. This was, in fact, the last thing he would want, even lower on his personal list of horrors than listening to Nick Jonas in Les Misérables or going to church.

"FUCK!" He screamed at no one, staring at the roof of his car without focus. His pulse was running faster than Usain Bolt on a good day and Crowley wondered how he was going to relate the latest news to Aziraphale without getting an empty bottle of wine thrown at him. Fuck fuck fuck six hundred and sixty six shits on a stick -

_Why can't we give love, give love, give love…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was starting to work on this story, I told myself it would be around 4k long. Ha. HA.  
> (Sorry if there are any mistakes, I have no beta I could blame them on and I've edited this part rather quickly)

Aziraphale could not figure out how anyone could have delivered the note to his desk; the only other person he let into the back room was Crowley and Aziraphale had no idea why he would suddenly feel the need to communicate via letters. Perhaps he had something to tell Aziraphale but did not wish to speak face to face because of their argument the other day? No, if that had been the case, Crowley would have left a voicemail; also he had looked more guilty than angry the last time they spoke.

But if Crowley hadn't written the message, then who? There was one way to find out. Aziraphale sighed, sat down and put on his glasses. Not that he needed them, of course, but they were reading glasses and he was about to read and according to him it wasn’t a proper reading experience without wearing them. Also, he believed they made him look quite dapper.

 

_Dear Aziraphale,_

_We are not too familiar with Earth and so instead of meeting you there, we have decided to miracle up a note for you. We know that you are in love with the demon Crowley._

Aziraphale's eyebrows shot up so high they nearly hit the chandelier. He blinked several times, slowly took off his glasses and rubbed them on the hem of his shirt before placing them back on his nose. He read the sentence again.

 

_We know that you are in love with the demon Crowley._

 

He closed his eyes. Counted to ten. Opened them.

 

_We know that you are in love with the demon Crowley._

 

"I am going to need stronger cocoa for this," he muttered under his breath and stood up.

A few moments later, the angel was stirring his cocoa absent-mindedly with one hand and holding a telephone to his ear with the other. He had gone through the entire note four times and now was wondering if a) he had gone crazy, b) Crowley had pranked him, c) someone from Heaven had pranked him, d) he was hallucinating, e) he was dreaming, f) all of the above.

"Aziraphale?" Said the telephone. Simply hearing Crowley's voice was enough to make some of the tension in Aziraphale's body melt away, reminding him that he wasn't alone, that they were in this together.

"Crowley. I found a… rather interesting letter on my desk today."

"What? Who wrote it? How would it get there?" Aziraphale was keeping an ear out for a trace of smugness in his voice, but Crowley only sounded puzzled. Not his work, then.

"…I will read it to you and then you can tell me what you think, alright?" Aziraphale cleared his throat.

This was going to be awkward.

 

_Dear Aziraphale,_

_We are not too familiar with Earth and so instead of meeting you there, we have decided to miracle up a note for you. We know that you are in love with the demon Crowley._

"What," said Crowley.

"Please don't interrupt me, I am not finished."

_While many angels would disagree with us, we find it wonderful and wish you the best of luck. As beings of love and kindness, we should be capable of caring for and forgiving even (perhaps especially) our enemies, right?_

_However, the most admirable feat you have achieved is seizing Crowley's heart. Demons are supposed to be ruthless, yet with your goodness, you have managed to awaken pure feelings in him. Most of us are cupids and despite popular opinion, our job can get quite difficult at times. Some humans aren't very good at loving others; either because they are selfish, oblivious, scared, or straight up evil. But this is not a human we are speaking of, this is a demon. And yet you have been able to open your heart to him and have him do the same._

"What the… This is so awfully written and full of clichés it makes me want to throw up. Seizing my heart? Awakening pure feelings? I think I would prefer actually bathing in holy water to hearing the rest of this."

"Crowley. Please be quiet for a moment."

_We cannot say with certainty what the Almighty's mind is, but it must have been She who had blessed you with new strength, for nothing else but Her will could have saved a demon from holy water and an angel from hellfire. We think that what took place during your failed execution was a proof that you have made each other better, more complete. And how could that have happened without Her divine favour?_

_The archangels probably know of your situation, but it seems they have not yet decided how to react to it. However, we trust all will be well. We will all stand behind you and do our best to convince them you have done nothing wrong._

_May the Almighty smile on you and be gracious to you._

_-AICSOAMCLCMTICNRA (The Association of Interested Cupids and Some Other Angels, but Mostly Cupids, Like 90% of Cupids or Maybe 92%, Tanliel and Innaphia Could Not Reach an Agreement on This)_

 

Crowley was quiet for an unusually long time. Then he burst into laughter.

Aziraphale scowled. “I don’t find it funny, dear boy.”

“It is funny! The funniest thing I’ve heard in a while.” Aziraphale's frown deepened; he couldn’t help but feel somewhat offended. Did Crowley honestly think the idea of them falling in love so ridiculous?

Aziraphale knew he should share that opinion with him... except he didn’t. He couldn’t deny that in some ways, they acted more like a couple than two friends. He couldn’t deny that Crowley made him feel things no one else ever had nor ever would.

“You do realise that if the archangels believe this, I might soon have another close meeting with hellfire?”

Crowley's laughter ceased. “That won’t happen, angel,” he assured him. “Don’t be so pessimistic, I think this letter is actually great news.”

“What are you talking about?”

“How many cupids are there in Heaven, a shitload and twenty, yeah? These guys have to deal with infatuated humans, if only from above. They have the patience of saints and are a lot tougher than they seem. If you have them actively rooting for you, Gabriel and company might actually be convinced to let us live.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You don’t know Gabriel. Trying to reason with him is like beating a dead unicorn.”

“Yeah, I've noticed that... But there is power in numbers. I think he's one of those pricks who act all high and mighty when they're dealing with one person. An entire crowd, though? He and his archangel pals will be too chicken to oppose a whole lot of _Interested Cupids and Some Other Angels._ They'll surrender."

"They are soldiers."

"So are the cupids. So are you," said Crowley, and Aziraphale was positive he was smiling.

"What do you suggest we do?"

"I suggest…" Crowley paused. "You're not going to like it."

Well wasn't that just what Aziraphale needed to hear today. First he receives the strangest letter he had ever got his hands on (And that meant something, seeing as Crowley had sent him a number of unusual letters when he was drunk as a wheelbarrow. Aziraphale kept all of them, of course. They contained treasures such as "Azraphle? Can all angles really play the hharp?? Can you? Do you hav to practiss or do you like just like always kno which strings to plukck? Whad about the lute can you play it tooo? Canyou play Wonderwall four me" or Aziraphale's personal favourite " ~~Aza~~ ~~Azize~~ ~~Arizo~~ Aziraphel you have some nice eyes I wnna crye how arthey soo nice I ~~conga~~ ~~cogrna~~ conagrutulate you on them good eyes reealy thank you"), then Crowley laughs at him and completely ignores all the terrifying implications of these dangerous rumours and now he got an idea and _Aziraphale isn't going to like it_. No amount of cocoa was going to help here.

He sighed.  "Go on."

Crowley went on. "We've defied the Apocalypse together and if the guys upstairs haven't yet realised that we are friends, they're more useless than a holey umbrella. Once they decide to go back to breathing on our necks, we're going to be in trouble either way. But this, this could actually help us. Hell is apparently impressed that I've been, erm, introducing an angel to the wonders of sinning, while you have an association of supporters in Heaven who are moved to tears by the idea that you might… care about someone like me. So…"

"I think they are more moved by the idea of you caring about me."

"Uh, whatever. Anyway I know it's going to sound ridiculous, but I think the best course of action is to feed those rumours, not deny them."

Perhaps there was something wrong with Aziraphale's left ear. He moved the telephone to the other one. "I am sorry?"

"Hell wants to believe I'm corrupting you and Heaven wants to believe we're _opening each other's hearts,_ and not in the surgical way. I'm saying, let's give those bastards what they want."

"I'm still not sure I understand what you mean."

"Look, this can play out several ways. Number one, we ignore these rumours. Once our superiors aren't scared of us anymore, they're going to convict us of fraternising, in which case we're screwed. Number two, we part ways and never see each other again. Pros, it is the safest option. Cons, we part ways and never see each other again. Number three, we pretend Spiderman and Interested Cupids got it right. My people will be fine with it because they'll think I only have the worst intentions with you, while your people will be fine with it because they'll think you only have the best intentions with me. It's the best shot we've got."

"Crowley. That is a terrible idea."

For a moment, only silence could be heard from Crowley's side. Yes, silence can actually be _heard_ sometimes; the sound of this one could be best described as disgruntled. "Oh, I see how it is," Crowley sent the disgruntled silence to retirement, replacing it with disgruntled hissing. "You'd rather never talk to me again than allow anyone to believe you might be in love with a demon, right? Because you're better than that, obviously."

"What? No!" Aziraphale cried out. His stomach turned at the resentment with which Crowley had spat out the words _in love,_ as well as at the idea of Crowley thinking that anyone's opinion on Aziraphale could matter to him more than Crowley. "I didn't say that, don't put words into my mouth!"

"Then explain to me why the idea is so terrible?"

“It’s too risky.”

“I am willing to take the risk, Aziraphale,” said Crowley impatiently. “Are you?”

He knew what Crowley was asking. _How important am I to you? Important enough that you would go along with a crazy and dangerous plan in order not to lose me?_

“I... I will think about it,” Aziraphale blurted out and, before Crowley could respond, hung up the telephone.

* * *

 

How did Aziraphale get so popular lately? This was the second note addressed to him in the last three days. Crowley hadn’t been informed of its content, but Aziraphale wanted him to come see it in person and he sounded more awkward than worried. Crowley had an inkling it would be quite entertaining.

He shut the Bentley's door, lovingly patted the car's hood and stormed into Aziraphale's bookshop. He could have normally walked in, but Crowley was of the mind that storming in anywhere and at any occasion was much cooler of him (if you asked the onlookers, they would tell you it looked like the poor man was trying to fight the door).

He crossed the public part of the bookshop (if you could consider it public, what with the irregular opening hours) to meet Aziraphale who had been waiting in the back room.

What was waiting for Crowley beside his angel was a letter placed on the desk as well as, for the lack of better words, a bouquet of flowers. It would be better described as a bunch of dandelions, daisies and some random weed tied with a string.

“Is it the cupids again? One would expect them to be better at making bouquets, really. I'd imagine their style would be red roses.”

Aziraphale wordlessly handed him the note. His face was a blank page.

_Hey Az,_

_Can I call you Az? Your name is as long as a queue at the post office._

_I wrote a poem for you. Here:_

_I'm from Hell and you’re from Heaven,_

_I've gathered some daisies (there is seven)._

_You have nice hands and nice hair,_

_I also like the clothes that you wear,_

_But if you took them off I'd consider it good luck,_

_What I'm trying to say is, hey angel, let’s fuck._

_Meet me at the Freedom Bar at midnight. You won’t regret it._

_-Xarroth (Xarr for fuck buddies)_

A wave of rage and disgust swept over Crowley. He had been looking forward to seeing Spiderman – suited them better than Xarroth, really – try and fail at hooking up with angels, but this was _Aziraphale_ and Crowley wasn’t going to let some infernal douchebag talk to him like that.

"That useless shit… Never thought they'd try this on you," he spat out.

"What is this about, Crowley?"

"Remember how I told you about that demon who thought we were a thing, right? Well. They said they wanted to, erm, spend a night with an angel, hoping it would also make them resistant to holy water and stuff."

"And they chose me to… help them with the task."

"Yep."

Aziraphale snorted, half irritated and half amused. "If you ever happen to stumble upon them again, please let them know I would never pick a partner who thinks rhyming _Heaven_ and _seven_ is a good idea."

* * *

 

"Are you serious? That was his problem? It was a great fucking rhyme!"

Spiderman, dressed in the same shabby clothes like last time, had seemed taken aback by finding not Aziraphale, but Crowley waiting for them at the bar's entrance. They had recovered from the shock quickly, but their white eyes kept staring at Crowley in bafflement. They really were a hopeless case, weren't they? Not even a human could be seduced with a bouquet of weed, crappy poetry and a T-shirt that had seen the rise and fall of the Roman empire, let alone an angel. Let alone Aziraphale.

"Not in his opinion," said Crowley, his mouth twisted in the fakest and most menacing smile he was capable of.

Spiderman cursed under their breath. "So how do I convince him, if this wasn't enough?"

"I am sorry?" Crowley's smile was so wide it was threatening to swallow his ears.

"What should I do next?"

"You should back off and find yourself another victim." Crowley couldn't hold the corners of his lips up anymore. He wasn't sure what kind of an expression had taken over his face now, but he would bet his jacket it was nothing pleasant. The air of unease surrounding Spiderman only supported his theory.

"Uh… Why? I thought Aziraphale would be the easiest target. Tried and tested and all that."

 _Tried and tested_ , as if he was an object. Crowley took a deep breath, already internally cringing at his next words... but how else was he going to drive away this idiot if not by taking on the role of a possessive bastard? _Aziraphale is my best friend, he is too cool for you or me or anyone, really, and no fucked up version of Deadpool's boyfriend is going to harass him on my watch_ would unfortunately lack the desired effect. "Aziraphale is mine, understood?"

"Damn it Crowley, don't be so selfish! You already have your superpowers, I don't see why you couldn't share the angel with me."

"Now listen you haemorrhoid, I won't let you touch him. He wouldn't let you either and believe me, you don't want to piss off a Principality. If you contact him again, I swear on all fires of Hell I will destroy you. I do have superpowers, you're right, and I am not afraid to use them on you. Get it? Now fuck off and I might pretend this never happened."

Spiderman tilted their head. To Crowley's displeasure, a small smile played across their lips. "When you put it like that… Alright, I'll leave Aziraphale alone. I will also pretend this never happened; you did give me some valuable advice the other day, after all, and I am sure you wouldn't want Hell to know what I know."

Crowley frowned. "What are you talking about? Hell knows about my plans with Aziraphale and they approve."

"Which of your plans do you mean? Kissing Aziraphale in the rain? Looking into his eyes tenderly? Getting him gifts for Valentine's Day? Confessing your undying love to him?"

Crowley was furious. Superpowers or not, he was going to rip Xarroth apart. Tear them a new one. Sweep the floor with them. Make them bite the dust. Beat them like a drumstick. Wear them for a shoe. Knock them into next week. "HOW DARE YOU-"

"No worries, Crowley. We've both agreed we've never met, right?" Spiderman winked at him and snapped their fingers, leaving Crowley alone with his thoughts.

"How dare you," he breathed out. How dare this parody of a Marvel character imply the one thing he had been doing his damnedest to ignore for millennia? Crowley wasn't opening this Pandora's box, oh no. He was determined to spend the rest of his night thinking about demon-appropriate things like blood and death and misery –

Certainly not about love.

* * *

 

Aziraphale was looking up at the darkening sky, lying comfortably on a tartan blanket Crowley had miracled for him upon their arrival. The demon had truly outdone himself this time; the place he had chosen for their today's picnic was the stuff of dreams. Trees, flowers, grass, all of it greener than the greenest green Aziraphale had ever seen (when it came to rhyming, Xarroth had nothing on Aziraphale). The water of the nearby pond was cleaner and sparklier than it had any right to be.

Crowley claimed that once the night would truly set in, the view of the stars would be magnificent. He always looked at the stars with a mixture of pride and sorrow, as they served as a reminder of what he had both built and lost. Aziraphale would attempt to comfort him, tell him he was doing a great job as a demon, Hell had better musicians anyway and besides, the two of them would not have become friends if Crowley had not fallen. Crowley usually responded along the lines of "You're so sentimental, angel," but not without a (sentimental) smile.

"This is nice," Aziraphale said into the comfortable silence.

"Of course it is, I picked the place."

Aziraphale turned his head to look at Crowley. Arms folded under his head, the demon's gaze was focused at the sky as he was waiting for the stars to emerge. The breeze was playing with his hair and Aziraphale wished he could see his eyes, too, but of course Crowley had to hide them behind those silly glasses.

"Aziraphale? There is something I wanted to ask you."

"Yes? Ask away."

Crowley was quiet for a bit. Then, "Before the Apocalypse… I asked you to come to Alfa Centauri with me. You refused." Aziraphale averted his gaze in guilt. "My question is… Did you want to say yes? Or at least considered the option?"

Oh did he consider it. Had they run away, he would have missed Earth terribly. As for Heaven, well, it was where he had come from. Home is where the heart is, and while Aziraphale's heart belonged to Earth, he would never stop feeling this strange pull towards Heaven. The idea of abandoning it terrified him to the bone; what would become of him if he escaped, what would be his purpose? He was torn between Heaven, Earth and Crowley and little would seem more cruel to him than being forced to choose among them.

Then there was the Apocalypse. How could he have left when there still was a chance they could fix everything? In the end it was all Adam's doing, but they did give him a little push, didn't they? How would he and Crowley ever get rid of the guilt had they made no attempts to stop the Armageddon? Crowley loved the Earth, probably even more than Aziraphale did, and the angel wasn't sure if Crowley could actually be happy in a world without his favourite planet. Stars were wonderful, yes, but there were no cars, no restaurants, nothing. All the poor demon would have left would be one fugitive angel. Aziraphale knew that Crowley cared about him, but how could one being replace an entire world to him? Could he himself really be enough?

Pushing all of this aside, the idea of exploring the universe with Crowley had something… magical about it. Only the two of them, discovering places no one had ever visited before, safe from divine and infernal and any other fury… His heart swelled at the thought. He supposed his feelings could be compared to those of a young human who yearned for fame and glory and true love and although these dreams evoked hope and joy in them, they could not truly imagine them becoming real. It was like chasing a butterfly that was flying metres ahead and above you. Something beautiful, but out of reach.

“I did consider it,” Aziraphale said eventually. “A part of me wanted to say yes.”

“But the other part was too much of a good angel,” said Crowley, but there was fondness in it.

“I... suppose so.”

“I see.” Crowley sounded relieved.  A small smile formed on his face, the sort that only belonged to Aziraphale – or so the angel liked to believe. Aziraphale liked all of Crowley's smiles (except the ones that were fake, pained, bitter… basically not smile-y enough for a smile), but admittedly this one was his favourite. "I would be a brilliant companion, you know. The space would also be a brilliant companion. It could have been fun.”

“I know... But we wouldn’t have the Earth.”

“We’d have each other.” The way Crowley said it, like they were all that mattered and the rest of the universe could go stuff itself, took Aziraphale's breath away. Once in a while it occurred to him how much Crowley had done and was willing to do for him and he felt like he did not deserve him.

How ironic; an angel unworthy of a demon's affection.

“We do have each other now," said Aziraphale softly. "And the Earth."

"I know." Crowley stretched out his arm towards Aziraphale, his hand now laying palm up in the grass between them. Waiting.

_Hoping._

Aziraphale reached out and laced their fingers together.

* * *

 

"This is nonsense. There is no proof-"

"I saw the proof with my own two eyes, Gabriel! The demon, he… not only he did not die, he stayed absolutely unharmed! He didn't even seem in pain, on the contrary, appeared to be enjoying it!" And asked for a rubber duck. And a _towel_. She would make the demon pay even if it was the last thing she'd do.

"Yes, I've heard all that before, thank you for reminding me," said Gabriel (often referred to as Mr Know-it-all behind his back) coolly. "Still, there must be another explanation. I don't believe-"

"Well then come up with a better one," Michael cut him off.

Gabriel frowned.

"Exactly. You can't."

"What do you suggest we do about this, then?"

Michael raised an eyebrow. Asking for another's opinion wasn't like Gabriel at all, he truly must have been at a loss. "You need more evidence? Let's get it. We know where Aziraphale's residence is, let's send some of our best agents to assess the situation."

"Pity he would recognise me and Sandalphon right away," Gabriel grumbled. "In the short time we spent on Earth, the two of us perfected the art of blending in between humans. Nobody would suspect anything."

"You could give the agents some instructions," Michael suggested. "Teach them what you know, show them how to act."

Gabriel rested his chin on his hand and nodded. "Yes, I think I will do that…" His face split into an arrogant smile. "Soon we will figure out what our dear Aziraphale really is… and how to get rid of him for good."


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale had to make a decision. It had to be made within the next few minutes. It was making him feel like there was a frog in his throat. He did not like the feeling.

What does one even do with a phantom amphibian stuck in their pharynx? The way Aziraphale saw it, three options presented themselves; first one, he coughs it out, spit flies all around him, everyone around finds out he had a frog in him and is disgusted by his manners. Second one, he lets the frog go on with its life, attempts to ignore it and suffers in silence. Last one, he swallows it down, which means that present Aziraphale stops worrying about the frog in his throat and transfers the adjusted issue of frog in his stomach to future Aziraphale.

Fascinating what sort of nonsense the angel brain was capable of producing only to divert its attention from what actually mattered.

What mattered was Crowley. And him. And the three other angels in his bookshop, one of which had been holding a Rimbaud upside down and thoroughly studying the same page for the past five minutes. One of the other two was investigating the purpose of a snow globe and her colleague was observing Aziraphale through two holes cut in today's newspaper. Heaven's best people indeed.

An hour before the angels' arrival, Aziraphale had received this week's third note (“You’ve become a rockstar, angel,” Crowley had teased him, “don’t let the fame get into your head. Or you know what, do let it, one little sin never hurt anybody.”). It contained a warning about Heaven's upcoming inspection.

_Fear not, friends. Your love is beautiful, do not hide it as though you had to be ashamed of it. Let Heaven's representatives see that your feelings are true and nothing can tear you apart,_ was the official statement of the Interested Cupids (or, as Crowley had named them, Aziraphale's fanboys).

Although Crowley had made a variety of disgusted faces and noises at the cupids' choice of words, he seemed to agree with the sentiment. He maintained the opinion that their best ticket out of this mess was putting on an act called _Aziraphale and Crowley are badass boys who like each other a lot and will murder you if you don’t like the fact they like each other a lot._

Aziraphale had told Crowley he needed time to think, and the thinking was unfortunately still in progress. Gabriel’s spies were here, Crowley's and Aziraphale’s fates depended on how the following moments would go, yet the two had no proper plan, no idea what they were doing and no idea what they wanted to do. In short, they were being Aziraphale and Crowley in their truest form.

“This is a very intriguing stack of paper,” one of the angels shouted.

“Indeed, my human friend,” their colleague agreed. “So full of... words and paragraphs and... pages.”

Aziraphale sighed and cast a furtive look at Crowley across the bookshop, as if trying to convey the message _I am so sorry, not all of our people are so stupid, I swear._

Crowley had been loitering around the bookshop since Aziraphale had informed him of his newest (Crowley’s words) heavenly fanmail. They had been discussing what sort of an approach they should take, but before they came to an agreement, the angels had shown up. Aziraphale had ran over to his desk while Crowley had begun admiring an issue of the Satanic Bible which had somehow just appeared on the shelf.

“Excuse me, sir, may I have a question about this brilliant book?” Crowley yelled as though he wanted all of Soho to hear him.

“Of course, my good sir, I will answer all of your questions,” Aziraphale shouted with much less enthusiasm and moved to stand behind Crowley, pretending he was looking at the book over his shoulder.

“Well, angel,” Crowley murmured, “their eyes are on us now. We should give them a show.”

“What kind of a show?” Aziraphale asked slowly.

“That’s up to you, I guess.” Crowley shrugged. “If we want to keep pretending we are enemies, we could start arguing very loudly, you could call me an abominable serpent or something and kick me out of your bookshop.”

“But that’s not what you want.”

“I told you I'd rather go with the... other option.”

“And how exactly would you go about that?”

“Uhh, I was thinking...” Crowley scratched the back of his neck. “Well, you know. The obvious.”

“It is not obvious to me, my dear.”

Crowley made one of his indescribable Crowley noises applicable to every situation. “We could, um...” Crowley's voice was getting softer with each syllable until it was barely a whisper. “Kiss.”

Crowley and Aziraphale did sometimes indulge in activities that were very much human. Aziraphale’s favourite was eating, Crowley preferred sleeping. They had no need of either of these things, but that did not stop them from finding enjoyment in them. As for kissing, well, Aziraphale had never quite experienced the _pull_ humans spoke of that made them want to kiss someone. However, looking at Crowley now, first his eyes (or rather the faintest silhouette behind his sunglasses), then his lips… To Aziraphale's astonishment, it dawned on him that this was something he would like to try. With Crowley.

What did that mean, though? Were the cupids right? He had known for a long time now that his love for Crowley differed from his love for everybody else. Aziraphale spent nearly all his free time with him, missed him when he was gone and now wondered what kissing him would be like.

Was it possible he was in love with Crowley?

Aziraphale took a deep breath and a glance around. The three angels were watching them while pretending very hard to be doing anything but that. One of them was actually immersed in the least innocent activity in the entire universe; staring at the ceiling and whistling innocently.

It was a dangerous plan. But Crowley was right; the only other way they could get rid of Heaven's and Hell's unwanted attention was staying away from each other for centuries or millennia or perhaps forever.

Suddenly his heart felt twice as heavy. He made a decision.

"Yes, alright, but first… There is something I have to ask you,” said Aziraphale.

"I am all ears, angel." And why did Crowley always have to say it in a way that left Aziraphale wondering if he was using _angel_ as an endearment or a simple description?

Aziraphale gulped. This was harder than it had seemed in his imagination. What if he got everything wrong? What if Crowley laughed at him? "If we weren't in this situation, if there was no one watching our every step and ready to kill us if we do anything that displeases them… If we had none of this to worry about and I asked you to kiss me, not to give anyone a show, but simply because I wanted to… Would you?"

Crowley's eyebrows shot up and his mouth opened slightly. Aziraphale could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. "Uhhh, I, you… You want to kiss me for _real_?”

Aziraphale nodded. He remembered the feeling of Crowley’s hand in his. The way Crowley sometimes leant against Aziraphale and laid his head on his shoulder when they were drunk. Angels nor demons were particularly physical beings, the most you could usually expect from them was a handshake or a pat on your arm. Aziraphale liked being close to Crowley, though, whether that meant letting Crowley nuzzle his head into Aziraphale’s neck, or simply sitting next to Crowley, talking to him and enjoying his company.

A smile, that Aziraphale would almost dare to describe as enamoured, spread across Crowley’s face. “Okay, let me show you what I would do if you ever asked me that, hmm?”

Crowley's hand found its place on Aziraphale’s cheek, caressing it lightly with his fingertips. Aziraphale reached out to pull Crowley’s glasses away, but stopped himself. They weren’t alone, after all, and he supposed Crowley wouldn’t feel comfortable showing his eyes in public (Five beings at once was probably the record number of visitors of Aziraphale's bookshop. Not that Aziraphale would consider it a reason for celebration.)

“Ah, fuck it,” Crowley muttered, threw his glasses on the desk and kissed Aziraphale.

One of the angels gasped.

Crowley’s lips were soft and pliant under his and Aziraphale could not believe it had taken them so long to do this. He assumed kissing a demon had to be considered sinful, but he couldn’t fathom how a sin could taste so heavenly. Once their initial uncertainty faded away, it felt like they had been doing this for centuries, like they had been created for this exact purpose. Like Crowley never belonged anywhere more than in Aziraphale’s arms, which had at some point wrapped themselves around the demon without their owner’s awareness.

They rested their foreheads together, smiling. After what felt like six thousand years, Aziraphale took a reluctant step back and checked their surroundings.

The angels were gone. Apparently they got all the information they needed.

* * *

 

It appeared to be a perfectly normal classroom. No sulphur, inverted crosses, dead animals, nothing that would scream Hell. Except for the fact that it looked like a perfectly normal classroom, of course. The air was heavy with the stench of ruined dreams and anxiety-filled childhoods. The idea of schools came from Heaven, but it had been demons who put it into practice; Satan was delighted about that one.

The tip of the pointer hit the whiteboard. “So! Is it clear to everybody?”

Something about the place was urging the demons to raise their hands and say “Yes sir,” but they managed to shake it off, because how embarrassing would that be?

“You know what isn’t clear to me?” One of the demons rasped. “Why do you act like you’re an expert? It’s not like you’ve ever been successful.”

Xarroth carefully placed the pointer on the desk. “As you know, only one demon has ever been successful in this particular task. I talked to him and he shared his knowledge with me.”

“How can we trust you?”

Xarroth flashed a toothy smile. “Oh, I don’t expect any of you to trust me, that would be stupid. We’re all demons here, after all. I am expecting you to doubt everything I say, but keep some of it in your ugly heads because it won’t let you rest.”

“And why exactly are you sharing this with us?” Another demon chimed in.

“Reason one, I want Hell to grow stronger since I kind of happen to be a part of it. Reason two, I am sure many of you will be grateful to me later, which can always come in handy. Reason three, if any of you guys can get an angel to fall, half of the credit goes to me.”

“Half? That’s a bit too much,” the demon complained. “I mean if we do all the seduction and you just sit here shooting webs out of your backside or whatever…”

“I can’t very well sit _and_ shoot webs out of my backside,” said Xarroth with a grimace. “Whatever, at least some of the credit will certainly go to me.”

The demons began turning their heads and whispering in each other’s ears. Of course they didn’t trust the swollen-headed spider, but what if their advice proved to be useful anyway?

A demon with a brown rat hanging off her sleeve cleared her throat. “A little rumour travelled to my ear yesterday.”

“What did it say?” Xarroth asked with interest.

“It said that Crowley is quite… fond of his angel. More than just fond, actually.”

Curses, horrified laughter and various proclamations of shock could be heard across the room. Xarroth clapped to grab everyone’s attention. “Listen, I know Crowley is… problematic and many of you hate him for solid reasons. But accusing him of something so _good_ without any evidence? Shame on you.”

The rat demon deflated a little. Xarroth was right of course, accusing Crowley of harbouring any sort of tender feelings towards Aziraphale was low even for a demon.

She had to stop believing everything she heard.

* * *

“So what exactly does yours say?” Tanliel asked.

Khaseel rolled his eyes. He so did not want to be talk about this, but Tanliel would keep nagging at him until he would budge anyway. “Uhh, it’s... I suspect that demon stole it somewhere, or at least hired a human to write it for them. It's very... romantic and flowery, with words like splendorous or immaculate. And it actually rhymes.”

Tanliel sighed dreamily. “Oh, I wish mine was like that too, but no, my poem is much more... straightforward, so to say. Very unromantic and unflowery, with words like dirty or bangable.”

The corner of Khaseel's lips involuntarily went up. “Now that sounds more like a demon's work to me.”

“There was a line I didn’t understand at all... If I recall correctly, it went  _I will set your heart on fire, I'm like a hotter Tobey Maguire._ Do you have any idea who they might be talking about?”

Khaseel shook his head. “Never heard that name.”

“Me neither.” Tanliel paused. “But if I got a note like yours... Well, I suppose I might consider replying.”

“What? Are you serious?!” Tanliel had had a plenty of weird ideas, so Khaseel was rarely surprised by anything they said, but this was too much even for him. “You would... let a demon court you?” He couldn’t keep his disgust hidden even if he wanted to (which he particularly didn’t).

Tanliel's cheeks actually turned red. Khaseel wasn’t sure if he had ever seen an angel blush. “I did not say that! I would just, I don’t know, try to talk to them. See what they’re like.”

“And then what?”

Tanliel shrugged. “Depends.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

A small smile appeared on Tanliel's face. “Yes, so you’ve told me hundreds of times before.”

“Attention, everybody!” Innaphia shouted. “I can sense the archangels approaching us… Hold your banners high and make as much noise as possible. Clap, jump, scream, whatever you like, as long as you make your presence known. Understood?”

“Understood!” Replied the mouths of tens of angels (90% or 92% of which were cupids).

Khaseel did not approve of this madness and never wanted to take part in it, but Tanliel Insisted and Khaseel lacked the strength and patience to deal with Insistence with capital I. Not only was he convinced the cupids' effort would bear no fruit, he also expected they would all get in major Trouble. However, Trouble was an uncertain thing that might or might not happen in the future while Insistence was very much here at the moment and he suspected an angry Tanliel could get just as scary as an angry archangel.

When it came to ethereal beings, guardian angels and cupids tended to have the most knowledge about life on Earth, although gained only by observing it from afar. The cupids had been lamenting the distance ever since they had been commanded not to set foot on Earth; no wonder so many of their shots missed and humans ended up falling in love with someone who had not been intended for them at all. Curiously, these odd couples often worked better than the ones cupids had actually been ordered to bring together. Whether that was merely a strange coincidence of a part of Her plan, nobody could tell.

One of the cupids had recently suggested they show their dissatisfaction with the state of things in the same way humans do; a so called demonstration. They proceeded to explain in detail what such an event entailed and how they should prepare themselves for it. Tanliel and Innaphia had immediately leapt at the chance and took charge of the organisation. And here they all were now, waving banners and wearing T-shirts with slogans such as _Let angels love demons, We heart Aziraphale_ or _He's on the right track, Gaby, he was ~~born~~ created this way_ (Nobody other than the cupid holding this particular sign seemed to understand what it meant, but Tanliel and Innaphia did not want to stifle anyone’s creativity by telling them what they were or were not allowed to write. Khaseel was already pitying the poor angel for what would happen to them once Gabriel spotted the dreadful diminutive).

A crowd had gathered in the halls of Heaven, yelling questionable mottos and making noise in any way they could come up with. Khaseel only wished for this all to be over soon. Why in Jesus's left nostril did he let Tanliel talk him into this?

Ah, right. The Insistence.

“What do you think you are doing?” Khaseel hissed and grabbed Tanliel’s sleeve as they commenced an attempt at elbowing their way to the front row.

“Moving forward, Khaseel. Both literally and figuratively.”

Khaseel rolled his eyes so hard they popped into another dimension before returning to his sockets. “Yes, but why? If Gabriel catches sight of you, you’re f*cked (angels had a special way with swear words). Stay here, it’s safer, let Innaphia do the talking.”

Tanliel puffed up their cheeks. “What, you think I'm afraid?”

“You should be, you dumb cupid.” (Khaseel stopped himself right before the word stupid could pass his lips because if there was something he had been fed up with these days, it was rhymes.)

“Better dumb cupid than a cowardly cherub. Listen, a few decades ago I was in charge of making a young activist fall in love.“

“Oh, so that's where all this is coming from,” Khaseel sighed.

“She fought for the rights of women to love other women and Khaseel, she was so wonderful and brave! And it was so ironic, watching her opponents claim that She would never allow this kind of love while I had _orders from Her_ to make this great woman fall for one of her closest female co-workers. Humans are flawed, but they are trying their best. If they can stand up for love but us angels couldn’t, what does that say about us? What is our purpose then?”

“Our purpose...” Khaseel paused. “Our purpose is ineffable, I suppose.”

“We’re made of light and love, my friend. It is our duty to stand up for one of our own whose only crime was being a true angel.”

Khaseel blinked. Tanliel had never called him a friend before. Angels tended to avoid the word because friendship was apparently too human. The closest they got was acknowledging that someone was their 'best colleague'. “Well. If you say so.”

Tanliel nodded. “I say so.” They wrenched their wrist free from Khaseel's grasp and joined Innaphia in the front. Khaseel, who was already regretting the decision, followed them with a sour face.

“More noise, Khaseel, more noise!” Innaphia chided him as soon as he entered her line of sight. “You’re awfully quiet. And you didn’t bring a banner!”

“My unwavering dedication to the cause is more important than any banner, Innaphia,” Khaseel deadpanned, eliciting a sigh from her.

“What is all this commotion?!” Came from nearby.

Gabriel. All angels straightened their backs and their banners. For most of them, this was their first act of rebellion and now they were experiencing an unexpected and certainly forbidden kind of thrill that was reassuring them of their inevitable victory. They were a part of something better, but this time it was their choice instead of an order, which seemed to make all the difference. Gabriel was surrounded by Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon and several other angels Khaseel did not know the names of.

Innaphia, holding her chin high, announced, “We stand here in defence of the angel Aziraphale.”

“What?” Uriel was the first to voice the thought that had undoubtedly crossed each archangel's mind.

"We stand here-"

"We've heard you well enough the first time, Innaphia," Uriel hissed. "What is the meaning of this?"

Innaphia and Tanliel exchanged a look of encouragement. Tanliel and Khaseel as well. Khaseel and Innaphia exchanged a look that did not really mean anything since the two hardly knew each other, but they deemed it appropriate to finish their little Looking Circle. If nothing else, Khaseel believed that glancing knowingly at your allies worked well to unsettle the opposition.

"You sent spies after Aziraphale and Crowley, which means you know about their relationship now," said Tanliel. "But we are afraid you don't have all the facts."

Gabriel let out an incredulous bark of a laugh. "What are you even talking about? Have you all gone mad?"

Tanliel had of course come prepared. A flip chart materialised itself next to them and their fingers were suddenly wrapped around a wooden pointer. The first sheet showed a crude drawing of two winged entities holding hands with a heart and bubbles with words floating between their heads. Tanliel pointed at the bubble which said LOVE. "As a cupid, let me talk about love in the beginning of my presentation. Love-"

"Presentation?" Gabriel mouthed.

For the first time in his life, Khaseel was glad for the absolute disregard Tanliel showed to anyone who was trying to interrupt their speech. "-is our very essence. Mine, yours, Aziraphale's… and now it would seem it has reached Crowley's heart as well. We know demons to be unfeeling and unforgiveable, but Aziraphale proved that," Tanliel's voice wavered, "that it is possible to bring out a shred of goodness even in-"

"ENOUGH!" Tanliel stepped back, as though pushed away by the sheer force of Gabriel's voice. "How dare you speak of goodness in relation to a demon? This is blasphemy!"

"My colleague was merely trying to point out that love by itself can never be wrong," said Innaphia. "You should not punish Aziraphale for something that is his nature. Actually, we think you should applaud him for what he's done; Crowley is Hell's main representative on Earth, is he not? If Aziraphale can make him… less awful, many sins surely will be avoided. Swaying one mere human towards a more virtuous path is considered an accomplishment, but can you imagine how the amount of evil on Earth will go down if one of Hell's biggest forces falls in love?"

If you took a picture of Gabriel's, Uriel's and Michael's faces in that moment, you could glue it in a dictionary next to the entry for confusion and it would work better than any verbal explanation.

Uriel was the first to speak. "It is not Aziraphale's job to make demons fall in love with him, even if such a task was possible."

Tanliel glared at Michael with such intensity it made the archangel blurt out something that could not have been intentional. "It is possible."

Gabriel's face wrinkled in disgust. "You are on their side now, Michael?"

"Michael," spoke Tanliel loudly, "you said you could sense Crowley's love for Aziraphale during the execution. Or do you deny that?"

"Well, I-"

"Of course not, how could you? We have several witnesses who heard you say it." Tanliel, apparently pleased with themself, chuckled. "So, our first point in defence of Aziraphale is, he managed to change a demon."

"First point?" Gabriel groaned. "Does that mean there will be more?"

"There will be as many as necesasary for you to acknowledge Aziraphale's innocence.”

“Or at least think twice before finding him guilty,“ said Innaphia. „We think it is possible that She had shown Aziraphale and Crowley her favour and saved their lives. Let them become something new. We of course cannot speak for Her, but we believe an issue complex like this deserves Her attention.“

“We demand you present Aziraphale’s case to the Metatron,” said Tanliel.

Gabriel snorted. “You suggest that we waste the Metatron’s time just because Aziraphale-“

“No, we don’t suggest it,” Tanliel corrected him with an impatient smile. “We demand it.”

“Riight.” Gabriel’s expression was that of a fashion designer who had opened the wardrobe to discover an eclipse of moths feasting on his favourite jumper. “And if we were to ignore your… demands?”

“We will ask the Metatron ourselves,” said Tanliel cheerily, “and tell him how uncooperative you have been. But also…”

Khaseel’s eyes met Gabriel’s and, against his better judgment, the cherub spoke. “They won’t stop until you agree. They’ll keep screaming and walking around Heaven in horrible T-shirts and perhaps will even write protest songs. Believe me, they can do this for centuries. So tell me, is all this trouble worth it when one simple conversation could prevent it?"

Gabriel and Michael sighed in unison.

* * *

“So basically, the Metatron told them to go screw themselves.”

“Not quite,” said Aziraphale. “He said that this wasn’t Gabriel’s decision to make and that if the Almighty believes I deserve to be punished, She will take care of it.”

“You don’t look like someone who has been punished by God,” Crowley pointed out, raising his glass of wine.

“No, I suppose I do not.” Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled in a soft, pleased smile that made Crowley imagine himself and the angel picking flowers at a sunny meadow full of fluffy bunnies. Their glasses clinked.

“Gabriel giving you any trouble?”

“He does seem to be rather cross with me,” Aziraphale admitted. “He wants me to write weekly reports about my achievements on Earth! I never had to do that.”

Crowley waved his hand. “Eh, reports are boring, but you’ll get used to them. And nobody’s going to check if you’re being entirely truthful.”

“You cannot be suggesting that I lie to my fellow angels, Crowley,” Aziraphale said automatically, but at this point they both knew this was more of a joke than a serious objection. Aziraphale had lied to the angels so many times Crowley sometimes wondered how he had not fallen yet. Then again, the idea of Aziraphale falling was wrong on too many levels. Aziraphale was just so… angelic, so bright and good and stubborn. Crowley could sooner imagine Hastur and Ligur as a pair of goody two shoes ascending back to Heaven than Aziraphale becoming a demon. Not that he did not have a darker side to him, but… no, a universe with a fallen Aziraphale would simply not make any sense.

“That is exactly what I’m suggesting! And you can always pepper in the fact that you’ve been doing a brilliant job at making a demon _care_ , so…”

“I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

“Um, what?” After everything that had transpired, Aziraphale could not possibly doubt that Crowley cared about him, could he? His angel was smarter than that.

“You’ve always cared, Crowley, that’s not something I made happen,” Aziraphale explained softly. “About this planet, its people… I know you’ll deny it, but you-“

Crowley groaned. “Why is it that every time we are having a nice conversation, you have to start with that whole _Crowley-you’re-a-good-person_ thing?” He supposed Aziraphale’s motivation was fifty percent genuinely believing Crowley was _almost good_ and fifty percent knowing how much it annoyed Crowley when he said so. Heavenly bastard.

“If I said you’re a wonderful person, would that be better?” Crowley couldn’t deal with this. He was used to Aziraphale’s compliments and tender gazes, but he had never realised how much the angel had actually been holding back out of fear of being discovered. His face has always been more or less an open book to Crowley, but now the font was twice the size and there were illustrations and a ten pages long introduction with an explanation of all the important terms.

“That might be better, yeah. I don’t think there’s any rules against demons being wonderful.” A blush was creeping up Crowley’s cheeks and he was unable to stop it. He hated everything. “You’re also kind of wonderful yourself, by the way,” he added, not quite meeting Aziraphale's eyes.

“Thank you, my dearest.” Dearest, huh? That was new. Crowley scratched his neck, wondering how it was possible he had found it easier to defy the Lord of Hell than to speak to an angel who was trying to flirt with him. "Crowley, I… I wanted to ask you something. I know it's stupid, but it's been on my mind and… I don't understand it." Aziraphale was a six thousand year old soldier of Heaven, but at this moment, something about him seemed almost young and innocent.

Crowley reached across the table and put his hand on Aziraphale's. He was feigning nonchalance, but there were several tiny demons in his head currently dancing the macarena and jumping around happily at the thought that this was something he could do now. "Ask away, angel."

"Well. As you know, being an angel, I can sense love. I can sense it from humans or angels, but... never from you. I don't get it. I know that you are capable of it, but I've never... Could it be that our… radar doesn't work with demons?" Oh shit, this thing.

Crowley could nod and let Aziraphale think he was right. He could also change the topic and let it all go, but of course he had to do the least demonic thing possible and decide to be honest. “It does work with demons.”

“But you... Oh. I thought...”

_I thought you loved me._ Crowley quickly cut him off, because he would rather burn all his plants than hear Aziraphale finish the sentence in the same heartbroken tone he had started it with. “Nonono, wait. Fallen angels sometimes keep some of their old abilities and I couldn’t just walk around Hell with my heart on my sleeve, right? If my superiors discovered that I actually like humanity, I'd get in trouble. And I'm not an idiot, so I've taught myself to hide it and made myself undetectable by the magical love radar or however you want to call it."

“Oh.” Crowley had never heard so much relief squeezed into one syllable. “I see."

_Of course I love you, angel,_ said one of the little dancing demons in Crowley's mind, but Crowley couldn't bring himself to say it. It seemed to be too much and not enough at the same time. Aziraphale surely had to know how Crowley felt about him; or if he didn't know, he had to at least strongly suspect. Suddenly the idea that there might be any shred of doubt about it in Aziraphale's mind felt unbearable to Crowley.

He tightened his grip on Aziraphale's hand. "I'll show you. Just for a moment." He was half regretting his decision already, but that was Crowley's life for you – making questionable choices and hoping that against all odds, things would somehow work out in his favour.

"What do you-" Crowley silenced him with a kiss. Ignoring the twinge of anxiety all this sudden openness and vulnerability was causing him, he closed his eyes and focused on the barrier he had built inside and around himself. Slowly, he was letting it slip away, letting his defences down, permitting Aziraphale to peek under the surface and see all that Crowley had been concealing from the world. His weaknesses, his emotions… his love. Of course he could have just said what he felt and avoided all this, but how could human words, even the sweetest ones, ever truly capture something that had grown between two very much non-human beings?

As he pulled away from Aziraphale, the walls around his mind rose again, shielding him from any demon's or angel's nosiness. Looking into Aziraphale's eyes, he could see that whatever uncertainty the angel might have struggled with had dissipated. His gaze was gentle, understanding and peaceful and if Crowley got lost in it for the rest of eternity, he would not complain.

"Thank you. For showing me," said Aziraphale softly. "You know I feel the same way about you."

Crowley nodded, suddenly finding it hard to speak. It was one thing to know, but another to actually hear it. "So," he said once his voice returned from its lunch break, "bad old buddy Satan thinks I’m doing an excellent job, corrupting an angel and all that, while your boss apparently has more important things to concern Herself with than policing your relationships. I guess that means we are free to do what we want.”

“I think so, yes.” Aziraphale’s voice was full of excitement and wonder, as if he still could not quite believe things had turned out so well, but was already on his way to accept it and make the best use of it. Crowley was on the same boat. For Someone’s sake, he had spent tens of human lifetimes pining after something he thought he could never have and now it was sharing a table with him in the Ritz and smiling contentedly.

“So, um. How will we take advantage of that?”

“Aren’t we doing it already?” Aziraphale grinned, so carefree and beautiful it made Crowley feel as though someone was dancing flamenco under his rib cage. “Sitting here, not worrying about getting caught, just being… us?”

Crowley could not help it. He leant across the table, pulled Aziraphale closer by his collar and brought their lips together again. “How about this? Isn't that even better?"

"Brilliant idea, my dear," Aziraphale whispered and returned the favour.

* * *

 

It was a lovely day in Heaven. Albert Einstein was reworking one of his older theories, replacing the speed of light with the speed of rumours and gaining astounding results that would change science forever. If only he had anyone to share them with, of course.

Tanliel was once again pondering how romantic it was that Aziraphale's and Crowley's bond had allowed them to change each other for the better and become a new type of being, stronger and different from anything Heaven and Hell had witnessed before.

They were wrong in their assumptions, just as they were right.

It was an exceptional day on Earth as well. There were no nightingales singing in Berkeley Square, regrettably, but an occurrence just as magical was taking place nearby.

An angel and a demon were kissing at the Ritz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys, this is it! Thank you so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos, I truly appreciate it <3 Apologies if there are mistakes, English is not my first language.


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